Tied Down
by Terri Ceep
Summary: Those eyes were just too open, too unlike theirs—I couldn't face them, so I hung my head, bangs covering my eyes. If I ignored him long enough, he'd leave; they all do, he's no different.


"Insanity," they'd say.

I'd say: "Fuck you."

...Because what do they know? Things are too clear for me to be insane.

"What do you think?" they'd ask.

I'd say: "Fuck you."

They persist. Persist too long to be tolerable. I give in. 'It's wrong', is the answer they want; 'death shouldn't happen; it hurts too much.'

What I give them, though, is: "What's the alternative?"

They stare—too long for my liking. Then comes the chart; they scribble down markings, to measure my 'insanity'—because I'm _really_ insane…because I don't think like they do.

"There's plenty," they said.

I smirked, then. A small upturn of my lip that stayed not even long enough for them to see.

I said: "Care to test that theory?"

They left, then. Hardly long enough for me to relish in their absence, though. God forbid they leave me alone long enough to attempt to summon the Devil for a means of escape—because, afterall, I _am _insane…because I'm really stupid enough to contact the Devil…

…demons are by far the better choice; much less hostile when they've been called from their exiled life in Hades to come and knock down a few buildings.

Another smirk.

Morons.

The next few days after their 'breakthrough' was followed with more questions, more tests, more scribbling. They'd taken to approaching me as if I were a wild animal, ready to tear at their throats first chance I'd get. Not far off the truth, really…only I don't tear—I slice. I told them this.

They didn't return for a week after that.

This time, I laughed.

Morons.

When they did return, they claimed to have brought me a 'visitor'.

"A fellow insanity victim," they said.

He snorted. I heard the noise even through their talk of 'childhood trauma', 'personality disorder', and whatever other nonsense they were babbling.

"Good behaviour should be rewarded," they said. "A little interaction will do you both good."

Now, he chuckled.

A small noise bubbled up in the back of my throat. A laugh of my own, I'm sure.

They let him in, then.

The one they dubbed 'Naruto' was bright. Too bright: Bright-blonde hair, bright-blue eyes. There was an obvious tint to those eyes, though. Red specks twisted with blue, giving them an almost unnatural appearance, as if they'd seen many things they shouldn't, that best remained unseen.

Not insane, though: Different, labelled. Not like them…

"Hah!" a grin: "Bastard."

…Like me.

My own eyes are black—black pools of nothing… Or so I hoped; having my face expressionless meant less of their scribbling, less of their 'insight' into the workings of my _disturbed_ mind.

"Hn," a smirk: "Moron."

...Like me.

"Naruto—" they started.

He cut in: "I'll play nice."

When he said that, I found myself doubting it; he neither sounded nor looked sincere. They thought the same—if the look they gave him was anything to go by.

He smiled—a sweet trust-me kind of smile that had them nodding their head in approval.

This time, _I _snorted.

They took their leave, then. Leaving me with this too-bright, overly-obnoxious idiot—because, sure, since their little 'talks' haven't worked, they can always resort to more torturous methods.

_Che_. Morons.

"So, bastard," he grinned; "how's life?—bein' tied up an' all, I mean?"

Another noise built up in the back of my throat, though this time, I'm certain it was less laugh, more…growl.

When I'd 'arrived', they decided that these chains were a necessary part of my 'rehabilitation'; they couldn't be sure whether I posed any danger to myself or others, which leaves me not being able to do anything more than sit up on this contraption they call a 'bed'.

I'm not stupid, though. They keep me like this because they don't want me causing them 'trouble'—jumping at them first chance I get.

Not that it matters—let them think that…I probably would.

"Neh, bastard?" he said.

I said: "Fuck you."

He'd leave now. Like _they _do.

Moron.

…

Moron. Leave me, like—

"You too, bastard," he pouted.

—they do.

…Like me.

He grinned again; "What's your name, bastard?"

…Like me.

It must've been ten minutes I was staring at him, but he just stood there, saying nothing: waiting.

_They _never did. They'd shake their head—move on.

_He_ didn't. He waited.

…Like me.

Those eyes were just too open, too unlike theirs—I couldn't face them, so I hung my head, bangs covering my eyes. If I ignored him long enough, he'd leave; they all do, he's no different.

He didn't though; another ten minutes past, and he'd still not made a move to leave. This idiot's either ignorant or really is that much of a moron—like them…

No—

Like _me_.

"Sasuke."

I know he didn't hear; I barely heard myself—but I couldn't muster up anything more.

"Sasuke, huh?"

My head shot up, eyes finding his. Had he just…? No. He hadn't heard me, so he couldn't have replied—I was hearing things, nothing mo—

"Though I think I'll stick with 'bastard'," he grinned. "Neh?"

I grinned, too, then.

_Them _coming back pulled it off my face, though.

In fact, I scowled. _Really _scowled.

"Naruto, time to—"

"—go. Yeah, I know."

If looks could kill, I'm pretty sure, at that moment, mine would've—but one look at Naruto's near enough identical expression almost had me smirking, instead.

"I'll see you, bastard."

"Yeah…dobe."

He grinned, then. _Really _grinned—his eyes lighting up. I gave him a small smile in return—which he seemed happy enough with. He ruffled my hair, then, making my bangs stick up every-which-way. I grinned again—feeling seven-years-old; my brother used to do such things, such signs of affection. I couldn't help but feel nostalgic.

"Later…teme."

…Like me.

I watched him leave, then. Chest aching. He felt so much like home—whatever home was for me. I smiled, though. Smiled all the while he was in the room. _My _room. Not out there, with _them_.

I resented them, then. _Really _resented; they brought him here and took him from me just as quick.

I closed off, then. _Really _closed off—more so than before. Each time they came I'd go _there_—away from them, be with _him_, where they couldn't get.

Because, afterall, what do they know? I can't be insane. Things are too clear: These people aren't like me. He is. I can't be insane. He understands. They don't. And for me, that makes it clear: I don't want _them, _I want _him_. Naruto. Not them.

Naruto.

I smirked.

Morons.

* * *

><p>Could you say this is NaruSasu? I'd like to think it is, but if you view it differently, that's fine. Rated M because I wasn't sure about the material topic-y'know, the whole insanemadness thing and how sensitive it is, so I put it at M to be safe. Just a one shot that I wrote for the creative writing competition at school. Don't know where I came yet, but I'm hoping not last, at least (: We'll see...


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